Hair
by Pollieanna
Summary: Peter knows that Michelle Jones doesn't care about 'normal' girl trends. She doesn't seem to put much effort into her looks beyond her own brand of styling. But when she walks in with her kinky hair out of her normal ponytail, things start to change. Especially, since she may have a crush on a mystery man...
1. Hair

Hair

MJ's hair was something Peter rarely thought about. In fact, MJ's signature pulled back hair was such a staple by this point that Peter could only vaguely remember her wild, unkept mane from elementary school. It seemed to most that her traditional out-of-the face mentality was simply because she didn't bother to try anything with her hair. Peter couldn't say it was because she didn't try, though. At this point he knew that the bangs often threatening to cover half of her face were long enough to pull back, but MJ always left them out. In fact, MJ tried in her own way to look good. She wore odd dresses to parties and shoes that didn't match her outfit but clashed just enough to be interesting instead of awful. On normal days she chose mis matched clothes that upon closer examination matched by some backwards irony. As much as MJ wanted to seem detached and unbothered by physical appearance she _was_ trying, she just wasn't conventional when it came to anything, including her style. She was different, and she knew she was different. That's why Peter found her so incredibly fascinating.

But her hair and overall how she looked was something Peter only thought of on off occasions. Occasions like during decathlon practices that would run long and boring, and MJ was literally right in front of him grilling the team. Sometimes he'd really think about her looks at lunch, if the conversation was especially dry, and MJ was literally sitting directly across from him and Ned, as she always did now. So, he didn't _often_ think about her quirky sense of style, or the fact that she didn't look like most girls.

Instead, Peter always noticed her in other ways. Like when she immediately knew the answer a formula in AP Chemistry, one that he couldn't figure out, and he was reminded how smart she is. He noticed her when she, after one too many snide remarks from Flash, twisted the guy's arm so fast Peter barely saw it, and had him bent over a table begging for mercy. He noticed how she twisted some Oreos and dipped others with no apparent reasoning. Peter new that she drank coffee in the evenings because it made her drowsy and ate an apple if she wanted to stay awake. He knew that she was a genius in every one of her classes. She studied with him for every single one. She seemed like the type of person who might be into the whole vinyl, hipster type vibe, but Peter knew that she didn't like records and preferred her digital music.

Peter noticed a lot about MJ, but her looks had never really crossed his mind more than a few times.

But now, at this moment, MJ's hair was all Peter could think about. As she strolled through the doors of the cafeteria her hair was, surprisingly, loose of a hair band. Falling frizzy and kinky around her face, in between actual curls and coiled waves, some odd purgatory right in the middle that was totally wiping Peter's brain of what Ned was talking about next to him. The wisps of hair floating around the main mass of MJ's hair swayed, unbothered by gravity, as she plopped violently onto the bench opposite of Peter and Ned.

Ned, neglecting his and Peter's conversation, started talking to her right away about something Peter could care less about, because seriously, her hair was longer than he thought, and she looked, like, really great. In all his one-year time of being best friends with MJ he felt as if he was seeing her for the first time.

She laughed at something Ned said, her lips slid back from her teeth, revealing her rare and infectious smile. But still, her hair commanded the attention of the room. Peter wanted to feel the coarse locks between his fingers and find the scent of her shampoo buried in her hair if he hugged her.

"Peter." Her tone was sharp, and he realized that when she was talking about if someone wanted to come over and watch a movie that she had been talking to him. He blinked, keeping a close eye on her hair, wondering why it wasn't literally tilting everyone else's world sideways.

"Yeah, sure." His voice cracked. He swallowed past the sudden blockage in his throat. "I mean I'll try, Stark Internship and all."

He still had yet to tell her about the Spiderman thing, something Ned was chomping at the bit to tell. But they had all barely been good friends for a year. No matter how much he trusted MJ with his secret, if he made an exception for her he'd feel obligated to make the same exception for Gwen.

 _Gwen_ …

His super amazing sort-of-girlfriend who he should've been thinking about instead of MJ's hair.

"Hey, loser." Said owner of hair barked, again bringing Peter back to reality. "What the hell, dude? You're totally comatose today, what's up?" In the minimal fraction of time before Peter could even start a reply she turned to Ned. "Loser Two, what's up with him?" She brandished her plastic fork towards Peter before taking a large scoop of mac and cheese and shoving it in her mouth. Another thing Peter knew she secretly liked: the god-awful school cafeteria mac and cheese. Sometimes MJ was disgusting.

Ned shrugged at MJ before shoveling a spoonful of red Jell-O into his mouth. "He's probably just thinking about Gwen." Ned smirked, jabbing Peter in the ribs with his elbow. Naturally, Peter blushed, subtly ducking his head toward his food. Peter wasn't embarrassed because of Gwen though, he was embarrassed because he _should_ have been thinking of Gwen, not MJ and her stupid hair or her stupid face or her stupid likes and dislikes. Or the fact that she had a smudge under her chin that looked like charcoal. And suddenly he was looking at her neck and thinking about how he'd like to brush his lips— _HOLY SHIT! WHAT THE HELL WAS HE THINKING?_

"Bro, you're a total loser, pull yourself together." Peter felt the fire under his cheeks, traveling from his chest to his cheeks in a constant flow. He was _Spider-Man Red_ , which was fitting for obvious reasons. Muttering an apology, he cleared his throat. MJ didn't bother to reply, instead shifting focus back to Ned. "By the way, Leeds, I have a picture of the color I'm wearing so you can get a tie or whatever to match."

Peter snapped from his stupor instantly. _What color? Why would Ned need to match a tie to it?_ He'd get back to her freakishly perfect, tangled mess of curls later. "What?"

"And the loser finally joins the real world!" She smirked. "Tell us, what made you decide to come back to reality?" The whites of her teeth peaked through the smirk as she held her fork out like a reporter's microphone.

Out of the corner of Peter's eyes he could just barely see Ned smirk along with her. " _Ha. Ha._ " Peter deadpanned. "No, I just realized that you have a huge smudge of charcoal on your face. Sketching more distraught people, huh?" His eyes sparkled.

MJ didn't even blink. "Do I really look like someone who gives a shit about charcoal on my face, Parker?"

Peter knew she did care though. That she was itching to scrub the spot off, but too prideful to admit it. "Just thought you should know." Shrugging his shoulders innocently enough, he smirked, enjoying the subtle discomfort oozing off of her. He barely caught her quick glance toward the window, trying to catch her reflection in it.

Peter put a horrible spoonful of fake cheese and whole grain noodles in his mouth. "Anyways, what color thing were you talking to Ned about?" He attempted to play it off, tried not to seem overly interested. Tried to look like he was just making conversation.

"She's just talking about Prom." Ned stepped in. MJ was too busy sneaking her arm quietly up to her face until she could casually prop her chin on her hand, hiding the smudge under her palm.

"Prom?" Suddenly Peter felt like it was a new concept. _Why in the world would Ned and MJ need to match colors for Prom?_

When MJ's hand pulled back from her chin a slightly red mark was all that was left of the smudge. "Yeah. Prom. It's the thing you tried to ask Gwen to for like three weeks. Ringing any bells?" Peter shot her a glare which she promptly ignored.

"MJ and I have been going to dances together since last year." Peter whiped his head around to look at Ned, a stricken look plastered on his face. Ned looked totally calm and unbothered. As if it was common knowledge him and MJ had been going dates to dances since last year. As if Peter could pull out his phone and google Ned and MJ and it would pop up giving a list of dances they'd been to. His world felt off axis.

It made sense, them going to dances together. He understood the logic of it. It was what friends did if they didn't have dates, or if they wanted to skip the whole awkward first date getting to know people. Peter understood, crystal clear. Yet, suddenly he was really not ok with it. Like at all.

When Peter finally came to his senses Ned was giving him a look. A look that said, _'Bro, why are_ _ **you**_ _looking at me like that?_ ' Peter quickly recovered his shocked expression into one of aloofness. It didn't fool Ned, but he didn't bother pointing it out to Peter. _Yet_ anyways. Instead Ned jumped back into the conversation. "I had to do a little more convincing this year though. She was being really reluctant about it." Ned glanced over to MJ, giving her a chance to explain.

Her fingers were resting on the pages of a worn book, which she must have cracked open in span of the last few seconds. She realized the lull in the conversation, glancing up to see both Peter and Ned's eyes on her. "Huh?" Her eyes, lazy, yet alert, switched between Peter and Ned.

"Just telling Peter about your sudden objection to Prom."

Her eyes, still half lidded, rolled. "It's a stupid social convention used as a smoke screen for teenagers like ourselves to have a popularity contest and give people the chance to get overly made up and fake, spending a ridiculous amount of money just for one night with some person you're probably not even going to remember in twenty years. All that extra makeup and hair just to fit into the social box of normalcy. People literally spend months saving up money to look nice and have a fancy dinner. Then the idiots use it as an excuse to get drunk in the name of tradition and ceremony. It's a stupid tradition that everyone thinks is amazing because maybe they get to be someone for like five seconds of their pathetic life." She didn't take a breath, nor did she move her eyes from her book. Even though both Peter and Ned knew she wasn't reading.

"Then why are you going?" The question felt so reminiscent of sophomore year as it left Peter's lips.

She finally looked up. "Because it's what Ned and I do. We go to lame parties together—"

Ned interjected, "But—"

"And," MJ steamrolled over him. "I might as well go anyways because I have nothing else to do. No mater how idiotic it is." Her eyes returned promptly to her book.

"But you're like, so against Prom. Way more than any other dance we've been too! You act like you'd rather die than go, but then you've got a dress and you actually want me to match some form of my own clothing to it?" Ned was sniffing at a trail. Starting down a path.

MJ turned back to Ned, her usual half eyed, monotone stare. "That's what girls do Ned, we get dresses to wear to Prom."

Ned jabbed his finger at her, eyes lighting like a fire. He looked like he caught her in a lie. "Ah! But you don't!" He said. "I mean, you do, but you never hide your dress from me, and usually it's a dress that you already have laying around your house. And, we never color coordinate our actual outfits! We've always just done the flower stuff." That's probably why Peter never noticed them coupled at the dances.

"And your point?" MJ replied, not bothering to look up anymore. She seemed like she was hiding.

"So, why would you put so much effort into this if you hate the entire dance as a whole? Why not wing it like we usually do?" It was a rhetorical question.

Peter tried to bring the conversation away from MJ, who seemed to be sinking closer to her book. "Ok, so what's the point. She got a dress, it's probably not a big deal." If he knew MJ, she probably just picked a nice semi-casual dress from the second-hand store she shopped at.

"See, we all know MJ has this thing against, like, any normal teenage social activity. Right? But suddenly she's bagging Prom every chance she gets. I mean I'd say she didn't care, or like, didn't want to go. But…" Ned smirked deviously. "She's specifically requested that I match her dress this year, which means she's not just throwing on some dress and heading out the door—"

Peter gave him a look. "The point Ned?" He said the same time MJ snapped, "Ned."

It was a warning.

Ned kept going. "So, Peter, this means Michelle Jones is actually putting effort into spiffing herself up for Prom."

Peter merely blinked in reply.

MJ glared through her lashes. "Leeds, I swear to God—"

Turning directly toward Peter, Ned's eyes filled with excitement. Like he cracked the case. And Peter, well, he was hanging on to every word, at this point. If MJ was getting pissed, it meant Ned was on to something. Whatever it was he was on to. "From my professional opinion and expertise, I think MJ—"

"Screw it I don't care, say what you want." MJ's head turned down again to her book. She was obviously fuming. Peter swore he could see the head radiating off her. Maybe it was just the wind catching her hair, making it look like the dancing waves of heat on asphalt.

" _Peter!_ " Ned was snapping his fingers.

Peter fell back into attention. "Yeah, sorry. What about MJ?" Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her head duck minutely further into the book.

Ned smirked, leaning in as if to murmur a secret, however never changing his volume. "I think our own Could-Give-A-Shit-Michelle has a crush, and said crush must be going to Prom. And said someone must be going with someone else. Why else would she be so verbally against Prom and the social status of Prom, more so than any other dance, _but_ also actually be making way more effort than what she usual does for such occasions." Ned was so proud of himself. It was obvious from the way his brown eyes sparkled and the white of his teeth practically overtook his darker skin. "All we need to do now, Dude, is find out who this person is so we can totally wing man for her!"

MJ's head flew up. Her usual chill eyes bulging, her jaw noticeably clamped over and over. Her knee hit the underside of the table, causing the entire top to shudder violently. Her hair concealed her expression and her hands quickly shoved her book into her bag before both hands clamped down on the edge of the table. It shuddered again, weaker than her first impact, but still enough to be threatening, as she lifted her withering glare to Ned.

Ned had a way of speaking before thinking. And any time he spoke without thinking he usually figured it out pretty quick. Right at that moment Ned knew instantly he'd fucked up. His smile dropped. "MJ, I…"

"How about you don't talk about me and my supposed love life like I'm not sitting two feet away from you. Also, even if I did have feelings for someone, it wouldn't be any of your business." The writhing heat of her glare steadied, calmed, if only slightly. "I have physics homework." And just like that she was taking long, staccato, steps out of the lunch room. Her dejected lunch merely stared back at both shocked teenagers left in the aftermath of MJ's fury.

Ned instantly scrambled from his seat, grabbing both MJ's and his tray, dumping them into the dumpster by the table. He threw his bag over his shoulders. "So, I'm going to go and say I'm sorry because that was a way worse reaction than I was expecting. I mean I didn't mean to like piss her off, I was just teasing." Guilt was etched all over his face. "I'll talk to you tonight, bro." And he was off, left to trail her pouf of curls out of the cafeteria.

Peter couldn't find any motivation to move. All he could think about was the fact that MJ had a crush. Or, 'supposedly did' if Ned's theory checked out, and his theory made a lot of sense.

Staying still, Peter was trying not to fall into a mess of his impossibly tangled thoughts. A pile of confusion he often left for other times and other days. MJ was riddled throughout the knotted wires of his brain, and often her signals tried to awaken the dejected pile of cords in the corner of Peter's psyche. The corner where he pushed all his confusing MJ thoughts.

Gwen, by contrast, was clean and orderly, wires never crossed, removed from confusion or stress. Suddenly Gwen seemed dislodged completely from Peter's actual brain. She seemed so clinical and passionless. So…. _easy_. Yet, MJ's circuitry, while untamed and wild, was lighting up every corner of Peter's brain. She was everywhere, even tangled ever so slightly into Gwen's nook of his mind. Gwen, so ordered and calm against the exhilarating chaos that was MJ.

Peter could feel MJ's tangled circles of wire running rampant, a perfect mirror to her unruly hair. Both demanded attention. The thought of MJ as a whole slowly consumed Peter as he replayed over and over the bounce of her hair as she'd marched away.


	2. Smother

Growing up Michelle had loved princesses. From ages four to seven she dressed up as Belle for Halloween. Her mother had found a cheap dress-up gown from a thrift store and Michelle wore it to threads. She loved Belle because Belle was smart and she read books, and she was so kind to the beast, and her dress and hair were always so pretty. When Michelle dressed as Belle for Halloween there had always been the carefully balanced questions when people saw her. They always asked who she was and why she chose to dress up as Belle. At the time, Michelle didn't think having dark kinky hair and brown skin would make it so hard for some people to grasp who she was. She didn't realize that looking different made such a difference. It just went to show that she never really cared much about conventional images.

When she turned seven and the _Princess and the Frog_ came out, people asked why she didn't like Tiana. As if just because of her color she was required to like Tiana the most. Michelle hated it. She knew Belle didn't look like her, that when she grew up and put on makeup she wouldn't have her white complexion. She never cared about that difference though. All she wanted was to be like her. She wanted to be smart, she wanted to be kind, she wanted to look pretty. The difference in skin color never made her think she couldn't be any of that.

Vividly, Michelle still remembers going into her eighth Halloween ready, yet again, to be Belle. Her mother had been saving up money from her paycheck, just to buy her a nice new costume. One that was sparkly and new from the Disney Store, not Walmart. Excitement could barely describe how jovial she was about getting a new dress. Michelle loved thinking about Halloween when she'd have her hair curled with an iron, and her mother would let her wear the tiniest bit of makeup. Michelle always felt like a real princess with all the fluff and glamour.

Three weeks before Halloween, while her mother had been pulling Michelle's hair into two little buns on her head, her father burst in and ruined everything.

He had exploded into the bathroom without warning before his hand clenched around a fistful of her mother's hair. That was how he'd dragged her from the bathroom. Michelle still remembers the sharp pain of her own head snapping back because her mother hadn't had enough time to let go of Michelle's hair before being yanked into the hallway.

The wall had trembled. Her mother was thrown into it before her body landed in a deafening clap of bones and misery on the floor. Michelle had clutched where her hair had been yanked, running out into the hall. Her mother was still on the floor, her father looming over her. His knuckles protruded as unforgiving mountains from his fist. Veins popped under the skin of his reddened hand. Michelle didn't remember much about what happened next, or how her mother was sprawled on the floor, or what clothing her father was wearing. Michelle, however, could still picture perfectly what his hand looked like dangling by his side.

She remembered the course of his veins, the square shape of his fist when it clenched, and the red smeared across his knuckles. She remembered because the red on his knuckles matched the red seeping from the newly acquired swollen cut on her mother's cheek. Michelle also recalled a miniscule clump of ten or so black hairs stuck to the blood on his fist.

The only other branded memory Michelle could recall was her father's furious words. "You've been sneaking money out of your paycheck? Been keeping money from _me_ , money for bills, money for food to buy the kid a costume for Halloween? Dressing her up in a dress and doing her hair will never change who she is. Prettying up your mistake, like I wouldn't fucking find out! That _thing_ will always be the daughter of a whore, she'll always be a piece of ugly shit. You hear? I better not hear about you wasting money on her anymore. And if you so much as think about sneaking around behind my back again, I will fucking kill you." He'd said it like a twisted prayer, through gritted teeth, begging her mother to give him one reason to kill her right there.

That day everything changed. Everything Michelle knew was left askew. Everything about her changed, snapped. Much more of her would break in years to come, but at that moment she knew that the reason her mother was lying on the floor crying was because of her. From that moment Michelle knew her father didn't love her anymore, if he ever had. Right at that defining moment—her mother sobbing into the carpet, turning the white fibers pink, her father turning the house cold—Michelle's world changed drastically, while nothing else changed around her.

Michelle didn't dress up that year, or any year after that. She stopped asking her mother for pretty dresses. She stopped believing in fairytales. Instead she read anything she could get her hands on. She built her brain. Her mother could barely protect herself, much less Michelle. So instead Michelle used her books, her logic, to build walls and fortresses around her emotions. Distancing herself was all she could do to protect herself from her father.

After years, her mother finally divorced her father. Michelle had been right in the middle of being thirteen. It was messy and violent. The only pay off had been watching her father carted off in the back of a police car while the paramedics assessed the damage his fists had done to her mother.

His absence didn't bother her as much as his presence had.

After everything world changed again. Michelle and her mother continued living in their lovely apartment, in a good part of town. Her mother still paid the bills working as a software technician. But, Michelle no long saw concealed bruises on her mother. With her father's absence though, her mother worked longer hours, took on harder projects. She wasn't around much.

Michelle found distancing herself from her mother was best for everyone. Her mother could work on her career finally without worrying about Michelle, and Michelle could pretend that her mother's absence didn't bother her.

Distancing herself became second nature. Soon enough, she'd distanced herself from everyone long enough she finally didn't care that she wasn't pretty like other girls. Beautiful was never a word people used to describe her. That knowledge didn't hurt her anymore.

Michele didn't see the point in wearing makeup, and preppy dresses, and matching shoes. All of it would just look fake on her. Michelle wore mismatched clothing, kept a casual hairstyle, had a sarcastic bite to her words, and accessorized with books instead of necklaces.

All of it was a wonderful form of camouflage. Camouflage that she'd been perfecting since the day her father had smacked her mother to the floor of the hallway. The day she decided that being invisible would be better for everyone.

Being invisible to others created an opportunity for Michelle to really observe other people. Not just the masks they put on for their friends or teachers. Michelle was an expert at reading people. She prided herself on her observation skills.

Peter Parker had ended up being the focus of her attention. Dating back to elementary, Michelle always found herself glancing his way. Always so curious about him. He just always seemed different from everyone else. Her curiosity only increased as the years passed by. Peter Parker grew more complex with each passing year. Reading him was never as easy anyone else. Once their class moved to Midvale High she started to realize that Peter was truly an enigma.

In September of their freshman year at Midtown High, he completely shifted again out of the blue. Michelle knew nothing as to why his behavior suddenly changed. Or why he could suddenly run five laps in gym without breaking a sweat. All she knew was that before the Midtown Sponsor Science Exhibit, Peter had still been elusive little nerdy adorable Peter. After the Science exhibit he was hiding something. Michelle knew he was hiding something, and she was very interested in what it could possibly be. Her ears perked when his name came up in conversations. Sometimes she could hear him talking to Ned Leeds at lunch or in class. Once in a blue moon gossip about him filtered around the school. Through all of it, she picked up on some things. Things she wasn't sure solved the Mystery of Peter Parker, but they were things she knew nonetheless.

She noticed he was always the first one out of school at the end of the day. She noticed that he seemed to have bulked up from the scrawny toothpick frame he'd had only months before in eighth grade. Gym had suddenly seemed to become less of something he hated. He had stopped wining, and on top of it never broke a sweat. And for some reason he seemed to be trying to hide the fact that he was better at athletics now. She knew that he didn't really have a subject he hated in school, but he never really did seem to enjoy English as much as science. She knew that he made the Decathlon team his freshman year, which was unusual for a freshman to get a spot on the team. He'd started watching videos durring his classes. It always looked like videos of the Spider-guy-thing that had been started swinging around Queens.

When his uncle died, Michelle noticed just how long it truly took Peter stop grieving. He'd acted for the final months of school after the death like he was ok. Michelle could see though, when no one was looking he was as broken as he had been the day he'd come back to school after the funeral. Every time she saw him without his mask he looked crushed by guilt. She didn't know why, but she prayed to a god to save him. Someone like him didn't deserve to feel as broken as he'd looked.

Michelle payed close attention to Peter freshman year. And, by the end of Freshman year, Michelle knew she was in trouble. Peter wasn't just some interesting guy to figure out anymore.

She'd grown attached. She started feeling desire to be near him, to really _know_ him instead of notice him. Michelle pushed it down far into the depths of her body, past her heart and her stomach, through the muscle and the bone, she buried it in ashes of burned trauma and scorched feelings. There, in that pit only known to her, Michelle had desperately tried to smother a fire made of Peter.

M ichelle could feel that fire singing her stomach, her face, as she sat in the bathroom stalls. She hated to be so cliché and hide in the bathroom stalls, but she really had no other place she could go. She just wanted a lock, a door. Some goddamn privacy because the hall's were packed and she needed to _breath_ e.

She wafted from one side of the stall to the other, her boots scuffing the floor every few steps, reminding her she wasn't floating away. That she was grounded. _God_ , she was angry. Pressing a cool palm to her forehead, she took in a deep breath. She may have over reacted just a tad, but really, it wasn't their business why she was buying a dress for Prom, or who, if anyone, she had a 'crush' on. She didn't see the big deal with her putting some effort into Prom anyways?

It didn't matter. She tried to convince herself it didn't matter. _It really did though_.

She kicked at the tiled wall. The chipped tile her boot had contacted gave way a few shards. She really didn't want to care, because caring sucked. All she wanted was to go and have a stupid, fun time with Ned and not care about how she looked. She wanted to be ok in a stupid old dress and in her stupid old pony tail. But she couldn't.

She wanted to show him that she could dress up, that her hair wasn't confined to her ponytail. She wanted him to see past his typical drop dead gorgeous girls and look at her in that starstruck way. If only once.

It was all so tacky and misogynistic. Michelle was very, horrifically, aware at how much she sounded like a typical romance novel girl. _God_ , she sounded absolutely pathetic. She did _not_ sound like the type of independent woman she'd made herself into.

"Never mind." The words slid from her lips, so hushed, so quickly that Michelle knew they were hers, but they didn't feel like they were.

Harsh, abruptly, she cleared her throat. Determined. Sort of. "Never mind. I just won't. It's not worth my time."

She'd return her dress when she got home and sneak the new makeup she bought into her mother's makeup drawer, and then she'd forget. Prom wasn't worth the fuss. He was her friend anyways, if he didn't have the same feelings for her by now, a nice dress and some makeup wouldn't change anything.

Michelle was just about to open the stall door when Betty Brant's voice entered the air, along with the soft sounds of her feet. "MJ? You in here?"

"Yeah." She pushed open the stall, her face a cool mask once again. "What's up?"

Betty looked tired when she answered. She'd texted MJ at midnight for their math study guide. Up late studying no doubt. "Ned is outside. He asked me to see if you'd come out and talk to him? He looks really bummed out."

Sighing, Michelle slung her backpack onto her shoulder. "Yeah I'll head out right now." Betty merely nodded, the droop of her eyes threatened to shut completely. "Um—thanks." Michele attempts a smile. Reassurance isn't usually her forte. "And, Betty?"

"Yeah?"

"The drama room isn't being used next period because everyone is practicing in the auditorium for the play. They have some couches over there and the teacher doesn't get mad if you take naps on them."

Betty blinks, her jaw slightly slack. Swallowing, she blinks back tears. Michelle just hopes Betty doesn't try to talk to her about it. "Um." Betty's voice is shaky. "Th-thanks, MJ." Her teeth glitter when she smiles, and it lights up her eyes just enough to make the concealed bags under them less noticeable.

"Sure."

Michelle leaves the dim bathroom, assaulted by the brightness streaming through the hall windows. Her eyes squint fractionally smaller. Backing the windows, creating a large shadow on the linoleum floors, is Ned. Anxiousness oozes from him, his eyes switching between her and the hall. His body sways, fingers twitch, mouth catapults him into a conversation without any warning. "I'm really sorry, MJ. I didn't think that you'd be so upset. I don't know, I guess I was just excited because I thought you had a crush on someone and you're always teasing Peter and I about who we like and I just—I didn't think that it would hurt you're feelings." His eyes, steady and open lock onto her. "I'm sorry. I know that it's not my business, but sometimes I don't think, and I thought that maybe I was right that we could actually really help you out like you help Peter and me. I took it too far though and I didn't mean to make you cry, and I'm just—"

"Hold it. Who said I was crying?" She figured it was better to cut the tension, brush the whole thing off. Ned obviously felt awful and Michelle knew how soft his heart was. She knew he didn't mean anything by what he said. She snapped a little more violently than she should have.

"Well, um, you were in the bathroom?" Ned seemed confused. "When girls go to the bathroom after they are upset, doesn't that usually mean they're crying?"

Michelle reminded herself that Ned was naïve to the intricacies of women, that what he said wasn't meant as some offensive comment. She smirks. "I really need to give you girl lessons." She smirks, which in turn causes his anxious energy to dissipate immediately.

He laughs. "What does it mean then when a girl goes to the bathroom for thirty minutes?" Her smile broke large across her face. No one else was in the hall though, so her reputation wasn't horribly damaged.

Michelle began walking toward her next class, Ned keeping pace at her side. "When a girl is in the bathroom for thirty minutes it doesn't have to _mean_ anything. Maybe she doesn't want to be around people, maybe she's angry and needs space, maybe she wants to cry. Or maybe, she just really has to poop."

Laughter blooms between them, starting with Ned, until Michelle has no choice left but to give in as well. Both stop mid-hallway, riding the last waves of their laughter until Ned goes silent again. The shadow of a smile on his lips as he looks up to Michelle. "We're ok then? You'll still go to Prom with me?"

Michelle tags his shoulder with her own, a lazy smile spread on her face. "Yeah, Leeds. We're cool." They start walking again. "I'm sorry too." She says.

Ned glances up, brows knitting together before relaxing. Quick as lightning. "For what?"

"I, uh, lied back in the lunch room." She purposefully keeps her eyes locked on the end of the hall, where it corners right. Past the corner, a few feet down is her next class. Thinking about the steps left keeps her mind off Ned and what she's about to admit to him.

"Do you mean…" It's a question. His voice is a fraction higher, showing his growing excitement.

Rolling her eyes, Michelle answers his unasked question. "Yeah. I think I have feelings for somebody." They're both almost to the corner. She can see the buildings of Manhattan in the distance.

"Oh my gosh. I was right? This is amazing! I can't believe—" He notices her dirty look, and opts to re-approach the enlightening news. " _I mean_ , that's cool. It's cool. Would you want to maybe talk about? It's cool if you don't though too. Totally you're call. I won't push."

Michelle stops him, hand clasped tight around his forearm. They're at the corner and her classroom is only a few yards away. Peter is probably already there that their lab table, waiting for her to show up. "I don't really want to talk about it. It's just not something I'm comfortable talking about. But you're the only one who knows that I've got a thing for someone. I don't want people knowing about it. I mean I have a reputation." He smiles, she doesn't, but he knows she's trying to lighten the serious tone of the conversation. "Just…don't tell anyone, even Peter. Please. Its just between you and me, ok?"

His face doesn't move. His expression doesn't so much as flicker. Instead his expression is fixed on a lack jaw, moon-faced shock. Then, "This is amazing."

 _What?_ The words formulate in her mind well before she manages to push them out.

Ned's expression finally changes, and he's suddenly beaming. "You trust me with a secret,"

"Oh god." Maybe, this was a mistake confiding in him.

"No, no! It's just, we're, like, true friends! We have a secret and you told _me_ of all people. Like, I'm just honored I guess."

"Oh my _god_." She doesn't know what else to say in response to Ned. "Just—just give me your word?"

Ned bobs his head, like a toddler. "Yeah-yeah-yeah, for sure. Yup."

"Ok…good." Her hand, which never left his forearm, finally detaches. "Sorry. I should, uh, probably head into class."

"Oh, yeah, of course."

Looking through the doorway, Michelle catches sight of Peter. At their normal table as usual, his chin tucked into his arms folded over the counter top. "Thanks, Ned. I'll see you tonight for the movie then?"

Ned nods, getting ready to head off to his next class. Michelle turns, ready to head into her classroom.

"MJ?" Ned's voice pipes up from his few steps taken away from her. Michelle turns back. "You're a pretty cool person. Just so you know."

Michelle grins. "Oh, I'm not just cool. I'm a fucking delight." Ned smiles back at her, his head shaking.

"I'll see you tonight. Have fun in chemistry. Try not to screw up too much."

Michelle answered him in the sweetest way she could: her middle figure over her shoulder as she walked into class.


	3. Ash

Peter had never been the type of person who enjoyed being alone. After he'd come to live with May and Ben when he was little, May had said he'd barely ever left their side. They'd cleared Ben's office out to make a room just for Peter. He never slept in it. He'd slept with them for a year until they started prodding him to his own bed. He'd hated it. The night always was far to silent, too easy to disrupt. Without his Aunt May's steady breaths brushing his neck or Uncle Ben's snores right in his ear, he couldn't _know_ that they were safe. Bad things happened to people, and if he wasn't there to stop the bad things, how could they be safe?

Maybe he thought he was stronger than he was, but every car-ride, every place they went, he needed to be right there beside them. Peter made himself sick with worry when they'd leave him with a babysitter. He'd sit on the couch, waiting for the phone to ring or a knock on the door. The sounds that changed his life so easily, so suddenly, before May and Ben.

As he grew older—wiser—the anxieties faded, but never left. He spent more time with Ned, but not once did he sleep over like other kids did. Peter couldn't be away from May and Ben for that long. He was convinced something would happen to them. He needed to make sure that, whatever that thing was, it could never hurt them.

Once he hit his teenage years, Peter was able to function normally. He did his school work while Ben tinkered with old computers. Sometimes, Ben would let Peter help once he got all of his work done. They'd watch movies as a family nearly every night, half the time with Ned included. When the nights came to a close, Peter slept in his own bed, rarely worrying about a faceless threat to Aunt May or Uncle Ben.

After the spider-bite, Peter found his anxieties nearly quelled. Ned and him had sleepovers. He went to parties. He lived the life of a teenage boy.

Peter had been at a party the night Uncle Ben died. His uncle had gone out to the nearest store for milk and never come back. The police had quickly caught the man responsible. He'd still had blood on his shirt when they found him, and yet he never confessed to the crime. When asked, he wouldn't give information. Nobody really knew how everything had progressed, or how the confrontation ended so tragically. All they knew was that Ben been stabbed in the chest, and when the police had found his body an hour later, his wallet had been missing.

Peter knew damn well that if he'd been there, the way he would have been any other night, he would have been able to stop it. It wasn't a _what if_ question. He _knew_ that if he'd been there, his uncle would still be alive.

Spider-Man was born of the loss and loneliness that came following Ben's death. If Peter could save people, put criminals behind bars, he could make sure nobody had to suffer the losses he'd suffered in his life. If he could just be like Iron Man or any of the Avengers, he could keep the bad things from happening. He never felt isolated again; he threw himself into Spiderman instead. Alone wasn't something he could feel when he was helping old ladies with directions, stopping arms dealers, or trying to prove himself to Mr. Stark. He couldn't possibly feel the void when he was helping to keep others from experiencing it.

So, when _it_ happened, he couldn't cope. Turning to ash— _dying_ —it had been all too real, too much.

He had never experienced a pain so intense that it felt like he was being ripped apart by a fire. Fire that consumed organs and bones. It charred his skin until there was nothing left but ash, carried away in a breath of wind.

The pain wasn't the worst part of it. Begging Mr. Stark to save him wasn't what gave Peter nightmares—it was the loneliness that followed.

Others had described the Soul Stone as comforting. They said it was harmonious, that they never really missed home while they were there. Peter didn't know what that was like. He'd spent hours, months, decades alone. Completely and utterly alone. He was confined to his room, just beyond his windows an endless plane of water the same golden color as the sky.

The people that were still alive, the people that _needed_ him were unprotected. He couldn't leave his damn room, and everyone he loved was either gone, or unreachable. Not knowing anything about how, or where, they were destroyed him.

Confined to the four falls of his room, an island on the water in total isolation, Peter spent days, years, or maybe even minutes—he'd never know—waiting for Iron Man to save him. He waited because he was scared, and a kid, and sometimes he needed to be saved instead of vice versa. Over what felt like an eon he tried every possible way out of the room. Nothing would budge: the window stayed intact, the walls survived his beatings, and the door remained unmovable. Eventually he spiraled into despair. The inferno urging him on turned to nothing more than ash as he spend more unmeasurable time in silence, utterly desolate.

When his soul was pulled back, the first thing Peter saw was the warm, swimming eyes of Tony Stark, and he knew he was home. Peter had cried, sobbed, because he wouldn't spend eternity rotting away, wondering if the people he loved were safe and if he could have ever saved them.

Peter had come back, back to where he could feel the heat of the sun on his face, and the chill whisper of rain as it rolled down his neck. There was warmth when he heard MJ laugh, and calm when Aunt May sang. There was passion when he saved civilians, and happiness from joking with Ned.

The memories were ones he repressed, and Peter never talked about his time in the Soul Stone. Peter actively forced down the panic when he found himself alone in his room as it glowed gold when the sun set in the sky. He forced down the anxiety when May left for the store and Ned canceled plans. Forcing it all away was better. It was selfish of him to dwell on the ash or the island—the pain and the isolation—when so many others had suffered worse fates at the hands of Thanos. Others would give up the earth and sun to have a miracle like his.

For the past twenty-four hours, however, the welling panic of desertion continually forced its way into Peter's thoughts. He knew why the anxiety was slowly building, tangling knots and snarls in his chest. It wasn't a mystery to him why he felt the singe of desolation coiling in his abdomen.

One day—a total of eleven and a half hours—ago, MJ had stormed out of his apartment, after confirming that she and Ned were romantically involved. He hadn't heard from Michelle since. Which may not sound unusual, if it weren't for the fact that she had made a habit of texting him in the middle of the night, just to wake him up with random memes. He'd slept through the night, much to his concern. Her lack of communication had only served to water the seed of Peter's anxiety. The loneliness spread far beyond just that. His two best friends had been a couple for god knows how long and had seemingly kept it a secret behind his back.

Peter ignored a fleeting moment of scathing bitterness when he saw Ned leaning against his locker waiting for him. Strolling up and throwing a strained pleasantry to the shorter boy, Peter worked on opening his locker, stalling so as not to have meet Ned's eyes. The blue paint around the lock was chipping, showing muted metal underneath.

"Hey." Ned began, a weary tremor in his voice. "So, uh—do you know if MJ is ok?"

Peter yanked his physics textbook from his locker, his eyes fixated on the cover, still unwilling to look at Ned. "I was going to ask you the same question." The malice in his voice was nothing like his usual tone. Guilt panged in his stomach, but he said nothing to rectify the statement. He only turned, finally looking at his best friend, the same best friend who had shared every secret with him since elementary school. It felt like he was staring at a stranger. _How many times had he kissed MJ?_ Peter blinked the abrupt thought away. It didn't matter. At least that was what he told himself.

He and Ned started navigating through the hordes of students. Peter wouldn't admit it, but he was still attempting to avoid looking at Ned. "I figured you'd know if she's ok." It was his lame attempt at diffusing the tension, even if there was still a small bite to his statement.

Ned shuffled between a few cheerleaders before catching back up with Peter's brisk stride. "Why would—Oh right. Um, yeah. She hasn't talked to me."

"So how long has, uh—you know, _it_ been going on?" The words stumbled off his lips, half of him not wanting to know, while the other _really_ did. The question had been burning the corners of Peter's brain since MJ had said _yes_ to his question last night. When he'd asked if she and Ned were an item.

Ned slipped next to him. Peter threw his arm out, steadying him. "W-What?" Taking the opportunity to meet his eyes for the first time, Peter silently asked what he couldn't bear to aloud. _Why had they never told him? Why had they kept it a secret? Just,_ _ **why?**_

Peter smiled reassuringly, trying to be genuine and focus on being happy for them, if only shortly. "I'm just curious, Ned. I had no idea." His head gestured for them to continue.

"Um, not long. It's a, well—um—It's'a still a'pretty new." Ned's voice turned into a horrible Mario impression, obviously trying to lighten to mood.

"Seriously? I'a know you can'a do a'better than that." Peter glanced back at Ned while they walked through the door to first period. The ghost of his smile was still on his face. For a moment they fell back into their usual rhythm, until Peter's nagging brain grew unsatisfied, wanting answers that weren't vague deflections hidden in the guise of the Italian plumber.

"Anyways, it's new then?" Peter once again prodded, hoping for an actual answer. His carefree, happy friend instead looked like he had hidden a body. "Hey, you ok?"

Ned answered while they took their seats at the front corner of the classroom. "Yeah. No, I'm cool. I'm fresh. It's all good." His smile was wobbling, strained.

Seeing Ned flustered wasn't unusual. He rambled more times than Peter could count. This time was different though. If Peter knew any better, he would have thought that Ned was hiding something.

"Did you just say that you're _fresh_?" Peter's smile broke through for just a moment. Ned's vernacular never ceased to amuse Peter. "But seriously, what's going—"

The warning bell cut through the air, effectively cutting off Peter's conversation with Ned. People who hadn't already filed into class began pouring in. Flash was among them, he smacked into Peter's shoulder on his way to the back of the class. "'Sup, Penis Parker?" Ignoring Flash had become habit, but it didn't stop Peter's temper from rising particularly quickly.

"You'd think someone that's as smart as you claim to be would be able to come up with a better insult." It was neither Ned or Peter who had spoken. MJ had come through the doors, slipping through people like silk. She walked directly past Peter and Ned, not even acknowledging their existence.

"Shut up, MJ." Flash snarled.

"Wow, another stellar response from the resident dip-shit." Her voice was her usual cool melody.

MJ had wrangled her hair into a ponytail, a drastic contrast to the bouncing mess of tangles she'd sported the day before. Her face was composed and her eyes their normal, critical selves. She looked the opposite of the rolling anger Peter experienced just the night before as she'd stormed out his apartment. The rays of the morning sun bounced off of her cheeks and nose. Her deadly eyes turned copper in the sun, glaring down at Flash, MJ was as indifferent as always. Instead of turning around and sitting next to Peter—on his left side as always—she slouched into the unclaimed corner seat in the back of the room.

The seat was broken, which was why no one sat in it. Peter knew she was pissed, but he didn't think she was _that_ pissed.

He turned in his seat. She'd taken her sketchbook out; her hand was already flitting around the page. "MJ," Peter couldn't say anything else before the final bell rang and the physics teacher came bounding into class, already shouting out the page numbers to open their books to.

Throughout class, Peter desperately tried to get MJ's attention. He had absolutely no idea what he would do once he got it, but he wanted to see her steely gaze just to verify that he wasn't invisible. Never once did she look up.

Half-way through the lecture on nuclear fusion, Peter turned to Ned, who was busy scrawling notes over the page. "Dude, how can you read that?" It was all a jumbled mess of ink and maybe hieroglyphics. How the obscure text translated into something, Peter had no idea. Ned opened his mouth, ready to reply, but Peter didn't bother waiting for it. That wasn't what he cared about anyway. "Why isn't MJ sitting with us?"

Ned's head remained down, his hand furiously producing more notes. "Maybe she wants space?" He glanced up to the whiteboard. Peter found it odd that Ned wasn't even gracing him with a sidelong glance.

"Shouldn't you know, though?" Catching another glimpse of MJ over his shoulder—her head bent down with her bangs shielding her face from view—Peter felt his breath catch somewhere behind his sternum. Her hair was a haloed brunette-copper, a realization of celestial beauty. _Why was her hair so perfect?_

"Know what?" Ned's response brought Peter's attention careening back to reality. The reality in which he had just been making googly eyes for his best friend, who happened to be dating his other best friend.

Clearing the knot that was forming into a stone in his chest, Peter distracted himself with copying down the notes he had abandoned while he had been focusing on MJ. "I'd think that since you guys are, well, you know—" The stone was impeding the word from taking shape. He deserted the words all together, clearing his throat. "I just thought you'd know why she would decide to sit in the Broke-Back-Mountain chair instead of by us." The way in which the desk had acquired that name was too long, and too graphic, of a story to tell.

Ned snuck a look over to MJ, as did Peter. She was shifting in the cracked seat, looking uncomfortable. Her eyes momentarily flitted from her notebook up to Ned. She completely ignored Peter. Peter didn't even have enough time to form her name on his lips before her eyes flitted away, latching attention onto her notebook. Her gaze never wavered back their way.

"I'm sure she's fine. She's probably just having an 'MJ' day." On some days, rarely, and out of the blue, MJ would barely talk to Peter and Ned. Peter always felt like she'd gotten trapped in that brain of hers and couldn't find her way out. There was always a dazed, introspective look to her. But she never actively ignored them.

Peter turned back, clenching his jaw. "No, I don't think that's it."

When the bell rang Peter fought against the rush of students stampeding toward the door, wanting to catch MJ before she left. However, her newly found spot was empty, much to Peter's surprise. Broke-Back-Mountain stood alone. Peter whipped his head toward the door, at a loss for words. _How_ had she managed to sneak to the front without him noticing? Yet, there she was. The shoulder of her leather jacket was peeking through the crowd, her hair floating like a cloud over her head.

"MJ, wait up." Peter was hurtling desks to close the distance. He needed her to see him, to listen to him. She needed to understand how badly he felt about the previous night. "MJ! Hey, come on, wait up!" When she ignored him yet again, Peter groaned, following her out the door. "MJ?" She wasn't in the hall when he emerged from the classroom. Her mess of waves and curls had completely vanished.

Ned appeared next to Peter holding the boy's forgotten backpack out to him. Aimlessly, Peter accepted the strap of his bag, swinging it onto his back.

It felt like a small part of his chest had fluttered away into ash.

* * *

Decathlon practice had yet to be canceled. Peter took this as a good sign, seeing as MJ was the captain of the team. Both Ned and Peter headed to sixth period in silence. Ned had been acting odd all day, and Peter was still trying to understand why MJ was upset enough to not even be talking to him, much less Ned, her _boyfriend_. No matter how many times that word rolled around in Peter's head regarding Michelle and Ned, it never felt right.

There was no conversation between the two as they weaved through the hallway. Peter braced his hands on the straps of his backpack, trying to gently approach the topic that he so desperately wanted more answers to. Answers about the one and only Michelle Jones, who, over the course of twenty-four hours, had become a complete enigma. "So, why do you think MJ's so mad?"

"Seriously, Peter?" The exasperation in Ned's voice wasn't unearned. Peter had been subtly prodding all day. _Not so subtly_.

Peter responded with a shrug of his shoulders, flashing a quick closed-mouth smile, feigning innocence. "I'm just wondering." Ned looked completely unconvinced. Peter dropped the act, his face shattering into an anxiousness that was slowly spiraling out of control. "I mean, I get why she's upset. I didn't think she'd be _this_ mad though."

Ned pushed open the doors to the library, turning to head into the private study rooms where they met for decathlon practices. "We all kept digging into her love life after she told us not to. She got mad at me for pushing during lunch, and then you and Gwen kept asking her questions. Can you blame her?"

Peter stopped short outside of the study room. Through the windows he could see Flash leaning back in his chair and Cindy going over notes with Abe. MJ was nowhere to be seen.

Right before Ned closed his hand over the door knob, Peter's full attention latched to the boy. "Wait, why were you poking around at lunch yesterday?"

There were more than a few things Peter knew about Ned. One of the defining things about his best friend was that he was not good under pressure. "What do you mean? What makes you think I was poking around?"

"Stop answering my questions with more questions, Dude!" The librarian a few bookcases over leaned her head into the open to shush them. Peter lowered his voice to a strained whisper. "You've been doing that all day."

Ned's eyes blinked rapidly. "Why are you so interested, anyways?"

"Why are _you_ not? She's your—" The word still wouldn't crest past the stone. "Well, you know."

"I am worried about her. But she probably wants space. As she explained to me yesterday, sometimes girls just need time to think."

"When did she say that?"

"After she stormed out of the lunchroom." Ned said.

"And why did she storm out of the lunchroom?" Peter set the bait.

Ned took it. "Because I was digging into her love life, at lunch, just like you and Gwen did last night!" Another shush from the librarian. Ned's ears turned minutely darker, blushing.

"My question is, why would _you_ be digging into MJ's love life."

 _Checkmate_. Peter could feel it, something was going to happen. Ned looked on the verge of cracking when a voice sliced through Peter's mind and body. "Can you move?" It was authoritative with none of the usual malice.

When Peter flipped around, there, in her shining glory, was MJ. Three academic decathlon study guides were hooked by her left arm against her chest. Hanging from her opposite shoulder was her bag, riddled with patched holes and broken zippers. Her face was cold, the depth of her eyes closed off, housing emotion so controlled Peter couldn't tell if there was any left. Maybe she'd used them all up the night before.

MJ elbowed past Peter and Ned, throwing open the doors to the study room. Peter and Ned stumbled in after her. "MJ—"

"Alright! It looks like everyone's here—"

"Mr. Harrington's not here." Flash interjected.

"Flash, I _swear_ to God." The animosity in her voice was enough to shut Flash up. It was enough to scare Peter.

MJ situated herself at the table in the center of the room, right in between Cindy and newcomer Alexa. "Anyways," MJ continued, controlling her voice, yet again, into her usual aloof tone. "We have the first qualifying meet for Nationals this weekend. We need to hit this one hard if we want any chance of defending our National title this October. I've printed up the quiz sheets. They're color coded by subject. Answer sheets are stapled on the back." She slapped a stack of papers on the table and continued. Her devotion to organized study guides was something the team was used to at this point. "Okay," She clapped her hands. "Let's run some drills."

There was literally no opportunity for Peter to get a word in. She kept the meeting packed with non-stop questions and drills. She never picked Peter to do any. She called Flash in every time. _Flash_. Peter could tell everyone thought it was odd, but no one was willing to call her out on it. She looked like she had just killed twenty people and buried the bodies.

Sixth period eventually came to an end. Peter tried yet again to get a word in with MJ. She was just as elusive as he was persistent and managed to slip away yet again.

Peter elbowed Ned. "Maybe she'll listen to you."

Ned rolled his eyes, muttering something about 'stupid love' before following her nonetheless.

"Wait, did you say ' _love_ '?" The stone in Peter's chest exploded to the size of a boulder. Ned never responded, already taking off after MJ, not hearing Peters quiet whisper.

Peter stood, a feeling of desolation creeping along his skin.

* * *

Ned plopped down next to where Peter was sitting against the wall of the hallway. Two days of MJ avoiding Peter had passed, and today was the decathlon meet.

Ned handed Peter a breakfast sandwich still wrapped in paper. Peter blindly accepted it, his eyes still glued to the study guide in his lap. "Thanks." He deftly unwrapped the sandwich and took a large bite.

"What happened to your face?" Ned tucked into his own sandwich, eyeing the bruise that had bloomed across Peter's eye. "Don't you have like, healing powers or something?"

Peter quickly shushed Ned. "It's not 'healing powers', it's enhanced healing." Again, concentrating on the study guide, his lips pressed into a thin line. "A mugger punched me." The smirk in his friend's voice caused Peter's shoulders to sag.

"You swung into a building, didn't you?"

"Maybe just a little." Peter replied

The snicker shielded behind Ned's hand was the only response.

"It'll hopefully be gone in a few hours." Peter stated.

"Must've hit pretty hard."

Peter folded up his study guide and tucked it into his bag. "So, have you talked to MJ?" For the past two days Peter had been asking the same question, with the same result. Each time Ned replied, Peter's chest constricted farther. He found asking somewhat doused the blistering fire ravaging the cage of his ribs. Each day, he snuck more questions about MJ and Ned into conversation, hoping Ned would take the bait. Peter told himself he was only being inquisitive, told himself that the flame licking his interior was nothing more than curiosity.

"Actually, yeah," Peter's eyes zipped over to Ned's, searching to find any extra information. "She answered the phone last night."

Peter's entire body pivoted towards Ned. He was up on his haunches now, ready to pounce. Grabbing Ned's shoulders, Peter pulled him the smallest bit closer. "Well, what did she say?"

The natural almond shape of Ned's eyes rounded. The shoulders beneath Peter's increasing grip, stiffened. "Uh, nothing much. We just talked." From the pitch of his voice, Peter found Ned's statement unconvincing.

"Dude, you know I can tell when you're lying right?"

Ned shrugged himself out of Peter's hold. "Well, we did. We talked. That's what people do on the phone."

" _What_ did you talk about?" Peter's felt like all heat in his chest was aimed into lasers cutting Ned open.

Ned scrapped his teeth along his lip. His eyes broke away from Peter, all cylinders firing. "I, uh—I can't tell you."

"Why?" And then, the most horrific reasoning shot into Peter's brain, as violently as possible. Maybe they'd not talked about the fight at all. Maybe, they'd talked about _intimate_ things. _Oh god_. "Were you guys talking about—" His tongue suffered some type of temporary paralysis. He muddled through, forcing out the next words. "—like, sexual stuff?"

It was the first time Peter had seen Ned turn totally red. It wasn't just a slight coloration under his dark skin. No, he was confident saying there was a full blush taking hold of his friend's entire face. "No! Oh my god, no. That's just—ugh," His body managed a quiet shiver. "That's so not what happened. That's just gross." He was still shaking his head, face blown into utter shell-shock.

Peter recoiled. "What _did_ you say then?"

Ned, still reeling from Peters question, took a large chunk out of the breakfast sandwich dangling in his hand. "No. I mean, MJ's great and all, don't get me wrong. Super pretty, nice when she wants to be. But no, I'm just not into her that way and—" He froze in the middle of his sentence, mid chew on his sandwich. Peter could see the sense of doom crawling over his friend's face. Something horrific was playing behind his eyes.

"Hold on, what?" Peter managed. There was a concoction of dangerous emotions welling up around his lungs, causing the air suck in. He hated to feel so relieved, Ned had sounded so dismissive to MJ, she didn't deserve that. But then again, Peter had never known Ned to be so heartless with other's feelings. It was like a frenzy. The fire was lighting in so many places across Peter's body. Electricity felt like it was crackling in the air.

On the other hand, Ned looked completely shell-shocked. War veterans may have thought the poor kid had gone through some gruesome battle with the empty, terrified expression he wore. When his breathing picked up after it's momentary pause, two small words wheezed out of his lips, "Oh shit."

"What do you mean, Ned? What's going on?"

"Nothing. It's nothing."

Peter tried again, not willing to let this opportunity slip him by. Ned had been acting weird ever since the secret came out about MJ and him. "What's going on, dude? Seriously, you can tell me. Just what's going on with you and MJ? Why aren't you talking to me about it? You haven't told me anything."

Ned stood up, clearing his throat, searching for a way to escape. Peter could see the flight response in his eyes. "MJ has been all we've been talking about for the past two days."

"No, you've been avoiding all of my questions. What aren't you telling me?"

Ned glanced down the hall, chuckling. "You know, I think I dropped my study guide down the hall." He tried to slip past Peter. Peter caught him by the arm, the momentum swinging them around. Somewhere behind them Flash made some lame joke about them dancing together.

Peter, hand clasped around Ned's arm, begged him silently to talk to him. "Look, it sucks that you and MJ didn't tell me about your relationship. I thought we were friends and you guys have totally shut me out and it's seriously freaking me out. I just want to know what's going on. Please, just, don't shut me out." Peter let his hand drop from Ned's arm, too tired to fight the crush of desertion as he spoke what had been boiling under the surface for days.

There was a moment of silence, of understanding between the two. Ned was the first to break it, a sharp breath sucked in before he spoke. "You've _got_ to be kidding me." A smile stretched across Ned's lips. Not the reaction Peter was expecting. "You're totally digging MJ."

" _What_? No. That's not what's—No. I'm not into—She's your girlfriend. That's just—" It just wasn't true. MJ was his friend, just a friend. So, what if she had incredible hair, or soothing eyes? And, yeah, maybe he loved it when she watched Star Wars with him and her arm touched his just slightly, but Peter _definitely_ didn't love her. Peter didn't love how when she looked into his eyes it was like he had never known loneliness. He, for sure, didn't love that when she sang under her breath she captured the world's attention with her melody. He didn't think it was amazing that her hard exterior could handle anything the world threw at her, and it definitely wasn't his favorite thing about her. Peter didn't love Michelle, didn't like her in any way beyond a platonic kinship. There was no way he had feelings for his sharp, sarcastic, and intelligently annoying friend. No way that he secretly loved that her style was a kaleidoscope of weirdness, or when her hair was secured to her head or floated around in natural coils. There was just no possible way that Peter felt that way about Michelle Jones.

"Peter, you're awesome and all, but sometimes you're actually really stupid." Ned's words broke Peter from his stupor. Ned was only smirking at him, no signs of betrayal that his best friend liked his girlfriend. Suddenly the anxiety, the fire in Peter's chest, made so much more sense. The light bulb flickered on. Peter felt the realization crash into him. The circuitry in his brain fired and sparked. "Oh, dear god." He tried to gauge Ned's response. "I'm—I think... What am I gonna tell Gwen? Oh god, Ned, I'm so sorry." He was frantically gesturing, as though to show just how sorry he was.

Ned reassured him with a calming smile. "It's not a big deal."

"Not a big deal? You're dating MJ. How is this not a big deal to you?"

Sighing, Ned rolled his eyes. "Dude, did it ever occur to you that maybe MJ and I aren't dating?"

Peter stopped. "No, Ned. That was not something that crossed my mind." Peter kept his voice level, but his brain was raging. "Wha—why would she say you guys are a couple then?"

Ned waved down the hallway, a smile breaking on his face. "Hey, MJ." Peter jerked his head over to look. Walking down the hall, the light from the windows dancing across one side of her face, was MJ. Her teeth bit aggressively into the apple in her hand, and she raised her brows in greeting. "Maybe, she just wanted people to stop asking so many questions." Ned answered under his breath as she approached.

"Alright Losers," MJ said as she pulled open the door to the practice room. "Let's hit the drills one last time. We've got three hours before we need to check in."

Mr. Harrington, who had been awaiting MJ outside the practice room with everyone else, sighed. "Michelle, how many times do I have to tell you not to address the team as 'Losers'."

Ned pushed the still miffed Peter into the room after the rest of the team. Peter glimpsed MJ moving the table around and setting up the chairs on one side. "It's just a simple team motivation strategy, Mr. Harrington. Makes them work harder." She shot him an innocent smile and Peter thought maybe the room had exploded. There was no excuse as to why it took him so long to notice how his fingers and toes seemed to tingle around MJ, or how her smile caused his chest to swell.

"Bro, pull yourself together. Stop staring before it gets weird." Ned hissed in his ear.

Peter blinked a few times, effectively cutting off his wandering thoughts. "MJ, do you think—"

"Alexa, you're going to be put in for the competition. Justin can't make it." MJ's eyes were focused on the study sheet in her hands. She marked something on the paper before shoving the pen behind her ear.

Flash scoffed. "Are you serious, Michelle? She's brand new. I've been on the team for a year."

Scowling, MJ turned to look at Flash. "Maybe it's because I don't want to screw this up. You've never answered a single question during competition. And what you _do_ answer during practice is wrong half the time."

Flash started complaining to Mr. Harrington.

Peter turned to Ned. "Why is she still so pissed at me? You said she talked to you."

"I told you, I can't tell you." Ned shrugged off his bag. "Just try talking to her yourself."

Laughing quietly, Peter dropped his own bag to the floor. "Right, I never thought about that. How silly of me." His eyes were murderous. Ned only shrugged before taking his seat at the table.

"The next person to talk is going to end up with a leather boot up their ass." MJ wasn't looking at Peter, but he snapped his jaw shut nevertheless. Peter plopped in next to Ned, shooting daggers his way.

From his chair behind MJ, Mr. Harrington let out a long, tired sigh. " _Michelle_ , no threatening the team, and _please_ watch your language."

"Sorry," She cleared her throat, readying her papers. "Alright. Economics. If the money multiplier equals eight, the reserve ratio equals?"

* * *

Quarter to one o'clock, the team started to get ready to head backstage. Everyone was placing their cell phones and study guides into their bags, some of them sliding back into their bright yellow coats. Peter slid past Ned and dropped his sheet and phone into his bag.

MJ was marking something else on her study guide in the spot she'd been standing throughout the practice. When she placed the pen between her teeth, folding the paper neatly, Peter lightly pushed her by the small of her back out of the room.

"What the hell?" When they were in the hallway, tucked away in a classroom doorway, she elbowed his hand off her back.

Her glare was piercing, but Peter's was growing with intensity too. The burning anxiousness that had been creating hopeless ash over the past two days burst into anger. "I could ask you the same thing." His voice hissed, his words a snake, leaking the venom that had been shut inside him for days. He stepped closer, eyes just barely having to glare up at her. If she were barefoot she'd be the same height as him, but her clunky boots always gave her the advantage. "You've been ignoring me for days. I've tried to talk to you and you didn't listen. I've been worried. You can't—" Peter managed a strangled breath, pushing back down the words he couldn't say. The words that showed Peter Parker couldn't handle three days of being ignored by her because he felt abandoned. Instead, he averted his eyes, trying to come up with the right words. "I'm sorry about the movie night. Gwen pushed and so did I, and you're right, it's nobody's business. I was just curious who you liked, and when Gwen started asking about you and Ned. I thought you guys were a couple and didn't tell me. I never wanted to make you so upset, but I just—I can't keep wondering if you hate me over this. If you want to flush a year long friendship down the toilet because of one mistake that's your decision, but I don't agree with you on that. You just mean—"

"Peter, calm down." Her voice, smooth, with just enough edge, brought him back. He realized he hadn't really been seeing anything at all until her eyes enveloped his vision. The steady, unwavering, gaze that he'd been striving to connect with for days was now focused solely on him. Her hand reached over and gently squeezed his wrist, spreading a cool warmth up his arm. The feeling of desolation—of being the boy stuck forever in the prison of a room—was fading, floating away into the wind. "I'm not angry." She still wore her dissociation from the world like a mask on her face, but it was just a mask. Peter could see the emotion brimming in her eyes. The guilt. "I was embarrassed. Really embarrassed, about letting everything boil over like that, and then yelling at you. I feel so bad about it." She was fiddling with the paper still clutched in her hands.

This was one of the few times Peter saw MJ lacking her hardened exterior. He could see the uncertainty washing over her face. There was even the slightest blush kissing her nose and cheeks.

Peter crushed her into an embrace, his chin resting perfectly on the curve of her shoulder. Her body froze. In all the time Peter knew MJ, he couldn't remember a time when they'd ever hugged. "I was so worried you'd never talk to me again." MJ's heart was beating against his chest and it was the most wonderful thing he'd experienced in his life. It was home. "Next time," He spoke into her hair, which smelled like lavender, "I'd rather you yell at me for three days than ignore me." She laughed against his shoulder, just a chuckle, but he felt it soothing the barbed knot that had been tightening in his throat.

"Fair enough, Loser." When her slender arms wound around his shoulders, he was no longer grounded to the earth. He was grounded to her.

"Peter?" He knew the voice. He broke away from MJ, and if there had been a sound of their embrace breaking, it would've been a booming crack.

There Gwen stood, dressed in her Student Council sweater and a flowing tulle skirt that was the same cream color as her hair. Her eyes shot between Peter and MJ, calculating. "Gwen, hey. Uhm, MJ and I were just having a friendship moment there." Guilt was clawing his stomach to shreds. He wasn't planning on breaking up with her until after Prom. He wasn't going to be the heartless dick who broke up with her a week before the biggest dance of the year.

Gwen smiled, her teeth perfectly straight and white against the peach coloring of her lips. Peter sensed no malice behind her smile. "I'm glad you guys made up." She motioned her head down the hall, her fingers folding into both her pockets. "But the decathlon is about to start, and I've been tasked to come find you. So, you might want to book it in there."

MJ stuffed the paper in her pocket. She glanced at the clock above the lockers on the opposite wall. It was five to one. "Oh, Shit!" MJ was already sprinting down the hall.

Gwen, with her hands hidden in her sweater, her smile turned into a sweet grin. The smallest drop of sadness in her eyes. Peter stepped toward her, reaching out. He wanted to explain, tell her that he didn't know this would happen, that he didn't want to hurt her. "Gwen—"

"It's ok, Peter. We'll talk later." She bumped her shoulder against his, that same wonderfully kind smile was still on her lips. In a way, he wished she'd just be angry with him, her kindness was making him feel worse. "Now go. You've got a competition to win."

* * *

"We are now entering sudden death. The next team to answer this question correctly will win the District Competition and advance to Regionals this June." The host of the decathlon presented a showy smile to each side, gesturing with a manicured hand to the small trophy the winning team would receive as a physical prize.

Peter shifted in his seat, setting his elbows on the table. There were bells placed in front of each of the twelve participants. Six on each team. Everyone was gearing up for the question. "Alright, here is our final question of the night!" Each person on both tables leaned forward just the slightest bit. "This is an Economics question. The question is: If the money multiplier equals eight, the reserve ratio equals?"

MJ's hand slammed down on the buzzer. "Midtown Tech?"

Peter couldn't believe their luck. The question was exactly how they'd studied it during practice. Mr. Harrington had even mentioned that the money multiplier wasn't mentioned in depth in the practice guides and studying it wasn't crucial.

MJ shrugged, turned her head towards the official, and Peter could see the slightest twitch of her lip. There was the glimmer of pride in her eye. He could see how much this meant to her. "Twelve-point-five percent."

There was a drawn-out silence. The entire team knew they'd won, they were all trying to keep their excitement to a minimum until it was officially announced. Peter clasped Ned and MJ's hands under the table. "Midtown Tech has won the District Division!" The team immediately ruptured into shouts and chants. Peter swept MJ out of her seat and hugged her. The entire team joining in. He could feel her quiet laughter bubbling over everyone's happy shouts. Her beaming smile was pressed against Peter's neck. Out in the crowd somewhere, Peter could distinctly hear May screaming over the applause.

The group-hug lasted only a few seconds more before the team broke off. They all collectively walked over to shake the other team's hands. A particularly greasy looking kid gave MJ more of a sneer than a polite smile. Her face remained cold as ever, but it didn't stop Peter from glowering at the kid when he shook his hand.

Before Peter could even reach the next person, the kid called over the official. The crowd was still cheering, Ned was pushing at Peter to move, but something bad was about to happen. He could feel the tingle rushing over his arms, up his neck. When the official arrived at the boy, Peter perked his ears up. Pushing away Ned's jabbing hands, Peter shushed Ned as the official leaned his ear to the boy's mouth.

Peter picked up the conversation easily, it was second nature by this point. "Sir, I don't mean to be a poor loser. But, I'm only concerned about Midtown Tech's captain." Peter's eyes shot over to MJ, she was shaking the last person's hand, starting to move toward the edge of the stage. "Sir, I only noticed that she has a paper sticking out of her pocket, I was concerned that it was possibly a guide or quiz answers. I found it suspicious she knew so quickly the final question after my team had only begun working it out." Peter's heart stopped. As the kid had said, there was a folded sheet of paper barely sticking out of MJ's back pocket. It had been hidden up until this point by her decathlon jacket. When they'd all hugged her, it must have pushed her jacket behind the paper. Peter knew with absolute certainty MJ had no idea it was still there.

With a few words into a walkie-talkie, the official called for MJ to be taken aside. Peter had managed five swift steps towards her, but she was already to the edge of the stage, just out of his reach, when a security guard pulled her off to the side. Mr. Harrington arrived beside her just before Peter did. "Miss, we're going to have to ask to see your pockets."

Mr. Harrington interjected, "What's this all about?" He shoved the glasses back up his nose, his eyes carrying over the officer.

"Sir, your student has been accused of cheating—"

"What?" MJ's arms swung out, nearly elbowing Peter's gut, before she folded them firmly across her chest. Peter attempted to slip his hand into her pocket, just enough to grab the paper and store it in his own jacket.

"Sir," The officer's tone was unyielding, and Peter's head snapped up. His fingers were inches from the paper, but the officer was right there, his eyes clearly staring at the little corner of white peeking out of MJ's forest-green jeans. "I see what you're trying to do, and you need to back away."

MJ twisted her head around, her glare finding Peter's fingers inches from her bottom, and inches from the paper in her pocket. Her indifference broke so thoroughly, so quickly, Peter felt like he'd been gut punched. Stoic and unbreakable as MJ was, it was like crushing diamonds when her eyes burned out. The flicker of fire in them giving way to dread.

"It's mine!" The confession was easy. He needed to save MJ from that look plastered on her face, from the thing inside her that was causing her eyes to dim so drastically. He could save her from it. Peter knew he could. He stepped in front of her. Looking the officer dead in the eye and lied. "It's mine, I was planting it on her." Four pointed knuckles jabbed into Peter's back, He shot MJ a hard glare over his shoulder, urging her not to intervene.

The officer crossed his arms, unconvinced. "Why would you sabotage your own team member?"

The entire team was starting to circle around. Mr. Harrington was trying his best to push them back, as well as get a word in with the officer. Peter spoke over him. "I, uh—hate her. I'd rather see the whole team go down than have her win for us."

The officer swept Peter out of the way. "Look, kid, I really don't have time for heroics. Come on, Miss." MJ stepped up to the officer, oozing broken confidence, and pulled out the paper in her back pocket. Her fingers dropped it into the officer's hand.

An official showed up, talking over the radio. Midtown's principal trailed behind. "Is this her?" The official asked. The officer nodded, and before Peter could get another word in, they were taking MJ away with Mr. Harrington in tow.

The entire team converged on Peter. Flash was grasping their newly won trophy like an idiot. "Parker. What just happened?"

The anger was tinting his world red, he wanted to punch that sniveling kid who'd ratted on MJ. He looked over. The kid was gone. Flash was the only asshole available. "Put down the trophy, Flash. You didn't even compete, you look like an idiot."

Flash's chest puffed out, his nostrils flared, and Peter was ready to aim his fist right at them. "Say that again, Penis. I dare you." Flash growled.

All Peter needed to do was cock his fist back and let it fly. He got as far as snapping his back his fist before two small hands were pulling his arm down. Two more arms were holding him back. Ned was yelling in his ear to leave Flash alone, that he wasn't worth it.

"You're so fucking full of yourself!" Years of pent up anger, of swallowed pride, was bursting from Peter at the seams. Ned was dragging him back with the help of the mystery hands. Abe was grasping with all his might to keep Flash from launching at Peter.

When the stage door closed and there was nothing but the silence of the hallway and the shimmering light of the evening sun filtering through the glass, Peter finally shrugged Ned off.

"Dude, what was that?" Peter turned to Ned and could only stare at the scrape on the peak of Ned's cheekbone.

"Where did—? Ned, did I do that?" A rush of shame hit him. He'd hit his best friend. He'd lost his temper.

Ned touched his cheek lightly, checking for blood. "It's not a big deal, Peter. You just bumped me." He smiled, as if that would fix Peter's impending guilt.

"Peter, what's going on? What was that?" Gwen stepped out of nowhere, Peter assumed she'd been the other set of hands pulling him back. He rapidly checked her for any bruises, but she seemed fine. Her ponytail was now slightly askew.

The hum in Peter's bones, the memory of MJ's face, crippled him. His back smacked against the wall and he sunk. The ground smacked his bottom hard, his head fell between his hands. "They think MJ cheated. When I talked to her before we went in, I'd grabbed her before she put her study guide away. We had to run to get in the gym on time and she must've put it in her pocket without thinking." He sighed. "They could expel her."

"I don't think they'd expel her. She's an amazing captain and she's got amazing grades. There's no way they'll expel her for cheating. She didn't even cheat, we both sat by her, there's no way she cheated."

Peter knocked his head back against the bricks of the wall. "May's probably wondering what's going on. Why she hasn't seen us yet." Peter stood, ready to go seek her out and explain what's been going on.

Gwen helped him up, worry etched into her brows. "Ned, maybe you could go get Peter's aunt and then meet us by the principal's office? That's probably where they took MJ. Is that ok, Peter?"

Peter could only stare for a long moment. Gwen was a gorgeous and wonderful person. He could only hope that she found a guy that deserved her. "Yeah, that works." Ned headed off down the hallway, leaving Gwen and Peter alone.

Peter risked a glance at Gwen. He knew the conversation was coming, and he had no idea how to broach it.

The subject was addressed by Gwen right away. "You love her, don't you?" There was a long spell where she gave Peter the time to find his words. None of the words or sentences he could think of would do. He didn't even know if he loved MJ, but he sure knew that he liked her a lot. After a reasonable amount of Peter's floundering jaw, Gwen cut in again, her voice sweet and calm. Her hands were tucked into her yellow student council sweater yet again. "You do, even if you don't want to admit it. I have a good eye for these types of things, always have." Her smile was small, understanding, and he ducked her head down. The fine hairs on her ponytail hovered in the minuscule breeze walking created. "I know this isn't the time to bring this up, but were you going to tell me?"

Peter finally swallowed his tongue and managed to find some words. "Yes. I mean, I only figured it out today—that I like her. I was going to tell you as soon as I could, though. But I didn't want to tell you before Prom and ruin it for you. I asked you and I still want you to have a good time, it's just—"

"I'm just not the person you want to be with the most." She shrugged. "I'm not going to say I'm not upset. I do like you, Peter. You're very kind and funny, but I'm sure that this won't hurt for too long." Peter cocked an eyebrow. She laughed. "You know what I mean. We've barely started this," She motioned between the two of them. "Thing."

Peter laughed this time. "I really am sorry. I didn't want you not to have a date for Prom."

"Oh, I'll have a date. You can't get out that easy, Parker. I'd love to go as friends, if you're not set on dumping me completely, that is." She bumped her shoulder into his, stopping outside of the darkened front office. Peter could see a sliver of light under the door.

He took a glance away from the door and smiled at Gwen. Her eyes were soft, if a little sad, but in all she looked okay. "Nope. I'd be honored to take you out." Gwen smiled back at him. She wrapped an arm around Peter's bicep. It was comfortably platonic and did well to help calm the anxieties rearing their ugly heads.

There was a door between MJ and himself. He could be doing so much more to help her, but he was stuck on the wrong side of the door.

When Aunt May and Ned showed up, they had half the team in tow. They'd ended up camped outside of the office, waiting. The afternoon light turned into the blue ashy color of twilight. May had been trying to get ahold of MJ's mom, but it repeatedly went to voicemail every time. Peter mentioned that MJ had said last week that her mom was going to be out of the country on business. May left multiple voicemails and text messages just to be safe.

By the time the lights flicked on in the hallway, Cindy's head was on Alexa's lap and her feet in Abe's. Ned had placed both MJ's and his bag beside him against the wall. He was going through his phone to pass the time. Gwen had also stayed, her head resting against Peter's shoulder as she to scrolled through her phone. Seeing how she switched her position every ten or so minutes, Peter realized he was nothing more than a more comfortable cushion than the wall.

May checked her watch. "They've been in there for a while." She eyed Peter with a sly smile. "You think she's putting up a fight?"

"If she didn't I'd be worried." Peter said. The light under the office door flickered. Flickered again.

May's smile turned into a retrospective, prideful one. "That's my girl."

Then Peter could see people through the glass. He bolted up, Gwen and Ned following soon after. The decathlon official, with her curly red hair and snug high-waisted khakis, emerged first, casting a curious look towards the group of kids sprawled on the floor. The officer then emerged, followed by Mr. Harrington. May shot over to Mr. Harrington instantly. They began talking in hushed whispers, as was common with adults in situations like this.

MJ snuck around Mr. Harrington, her eyes never rising from the floor. Peter couldn't see the brown of them beyond her bangs. He took a small step forward, before Gwen grabbed his wrist. So lightly that only he could hear, Gwen whispered. "I don't know her like you do, but she doesn't look like she wants to talk right now."

Peter was just about to discount what Gwen had said until MJ's eyes finally, painfully slowly, dragged up to meet Peter's. The blood in his veins came to a complete halt, he felt the impact deep in his chest, piercing the place where everyone he cared about was kept.

Michelle Jones was crying.

Her eyes were puffy, red, and even as she looked at him a tear skidded down her cheek, crashing into her lips. Her throat visibly contracted. Her eyes bounced between Ned and Peter, Peter and Gwen.

Peter had no idea what had happened, what had gone so wrong as to cause MJ to cry. He never thought God himself could make MJ cry. It just wasn't possible.

"MJ—" He reached out, ready to catch her, wanting desperately to heal her. "What happened?"

His only answer was the quiet shake of her eye as she averted her eyes once more and walked down the hallway. Everything was silent. May had halted her conversation, eyes raking over MJ, just as shocked as the others.

Ned called after her so did Peter, neither one knowing if they should run after her or not. She disappeared around the corner, looking like a specter floating aimlessly away. "What do we do?" Ned asked the question, Peter needed the answer. He was so close to running after her, he would have if the shock of what just happened hadn't immobilized him.

May stepped between the boys, her eyes never leaving the corner MJ had disappeared behind. " _You_ don't do anything right now. I'll go talk to her, see what I can do."

Neither boys argued, they merely watched as May disappeared around the corner after MJ.


End file.
